


First Night

by Topaz_Eyes



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Ficlet, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 01:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7870471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-series ficlet: their first night on the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Night

**Author's Note:**

> Another scene from that probably never-to-be-finished WIP. Can be read as a prequel to [(Lies, Damned Lies, And) Statistics](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7761268). Letting this one fly, too. Many thanks to my circle/f-list for first reading, and to Nightdog for concrit!

_I'm dead, Wilson. How do you want to spend your last five months?_  
– Everybody Dies

House was awakened by the _ping-ping-ping_ of raindrops bouncing off the corrugated metal roof of the motel they'd selected for their first night on the road. They were staying at one of those increasingly hard-to-find Mom- &-Pop establishments along the side of the secondary highway, somewhere outside Louisville. It was the kind of lodging where the water was too cold, the towels too thin, the guy who designed the decor died sometime in the 1970s, and the room heater had two settings, "off" and "just this side of hell."

He was glad they moved the bikes indoors for the night. The room was large enough, though Wilson had balked at the encrusted dirt on the wheels, which would inevitably fall and embed in the mustard-yellow shag carpet. Eventually he'd resigned himself to paying the extra $100 for cleaning. They'd left the heater off, though. Better to shiver a bit through the cool May evening, than rise every hour or so to adjust the damn heat. (Even if they wanted to, the bikes blocked access anyway.)

Not that they had to shiver alone, either: there was only one bed in the room, so they had to share. House never slept well in foreign beds, though he supposed he’d have to get used to it now. Dead men can’t complain. Not that that would stop him. It was comfortable enough, however, under the orange-and-chocolate bedspread, that he would be able to doze, if not fully drop off.

Wilson had fallen asleep with his back to him hours ago, as soon as his head hit the pillow. Now the shifting weight of the mattress and rustling bedsheets behind him signaled Wilson turning on his other side.

Wilson scooted over, and soon enough was spooning him. House tensed a minute, unaccustomed to the sensation, but the warmth of Wilson’s chest against his back was admittedly welcome. And after a couple more minutes it grew too enticing, so he relaxed into Wilson's body.

Until, a few minutes later, through two layers of cotton, House felt the tip of something firm prod languidly at the juncture of his ass and thigh. He blinked; his dick stirred.

He felt Wilson wriggle behind him. Reaching behind, he felt the smooth, naked skin of Wilson's hip and buttock. Wilson rocked against him, his nudging against House’s backside growing more persistent. House's dick snapped to attention.

"Christ, Wilson," he said, reflexively tilting his hips backwards, suddenly craving more.

"Do you want me to stop?"

House swallowed at the harsh need in Wilson’s voice. _Hell no_ , he thought. He reached down, tugged his pajama pants down and off, wadded them up, and stuffed the ball between his legs to support them, allowing Wilson to slide his dick between his thighs.

Wilson thrust and clutched House's hips, his hot breath puffing against his neck; the force of each thrust shot right through to the base of House's spine, and soon House was hard enough to ache. He palmed himself in rhythm to Wilson's fucking his thighs, the friction driving them on. Scant minutes later, Wilson came with a grunt. The warm stickiness flooded House's inner thighs, and he stroked himself faster.

The next thing he knew Wilson had reached around and closed his hand around House's. His eyes widened; the touch felt too intimate but God, he wanted it to last. Except Wilson's gentle squeeze and his thumb rolling around the head of his dick proved too much; House bucked forward, spilling into their combined fist.

Still facing away, House ducked his head under the sheets, inhaled the humid scents of sweat and sex and Wilson in the space beneath. Wilson wiped his hand on the sheets, then moved to wrap House in his arms. "Would you believe I — I always wanted to do that?" Wilson murmured against his shoulder.

"Me too," House replied to his surprise, his voice muffled under the covers, but raw and honest. And it was true. They'd spent twenty years not doing this. So much time wasted already, and the clock was winding down.

But Wilson only smiled against House’s neck and held him closer. “We still have time, House,” he said, as if he had read his mind. “We still have now.”

And if this was how Wilson wanted to spend his last five months, well, House was more than okay with that.


End file.
